


An Eye for An Eye

by FateDriven



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Jeremy standing there like white guy blinking meme, Langin getting his ass handed to him, Violence, running for your life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:35:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26805217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FateDriven/pseuds/FateDriven
Summary: An afternoon nap on the job isn't so bad, right?Richard Trager is in for a rude awakening and a dash for his life.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	An Eye for An Eye

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I'm back at it with something a little different while I continue to work on "Freedom Never Tasted So Good". I'm hoping to put out these one shots once and a while between chapters just because they're fun as hell to write. 
> 
> As always, feedback and kudos are appreciated. Give me your thoughts on Trager below! I'd love to hear from you guys. 
> 
> Have fun!

There are nasty habits and questionable habits. Richard Trager seems to operate within the realm of both, mixing the two until they’re almost the same thing anyway. The difference is, he likes to call them strategies. It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Productivity is the name of the game, and how productive have ‘habits’ ever been for anybody, huh? If smoking a pack of cigarettes after jerking off and crying in your car for an hour is making you bank, then that Park guy down in I.T. should be a lot richer. That’s one helluva habit. Working your ass off all morning until chow time, getting every single thing done on your to do list, even if some uppers are involved, so you can sit back in your ‘big wig’ chair and do nothing in the afternoon? That’s a strategy that Trager cooked up himself on nearly day one of working for the Murkoff Corporation. It’s foolproof and as Rick lounges, his cheek pressed against his desk and a low snore reverberating around his office, the rest of his floor… screams at him?  
A jolt as the executive snaps upright and back to consciousness, a big red circle on his forehead traitorously giving up the fact that he had been sleeping. Good thing there’s no one there. Had someone called his name? If he has to start taking those ‘Hearing Voices?’ pamphlets seriously he’s gonna-

  
“PULL THE FUCKING FIRE ALARM OR SOMETHING!”

  
The angry yell outside his office door from somewhere in the hall is mixed with underlining panic. The tone says a lot, and Richard, still half asleep, takes the hint, springing to his feet. “Fire?” He says thickly, thinking aloud. Somebody listened and pulls the damn thing, the high pitch tone sounding immediately. Trager fights the urge to cover his ears. Instead, he grabs the watch he had taken off, his suit jacket, and bolts. Now out of his office door, Richard sees the last of the little stampede of hourly employees fleeing down the hallway. Following the trail seems like the best idea but by the time he reaches the end of the hall, the door is shut. No problem, right? Wrong. The little sons of bitches locked the fucking door. After slamming his palm against the flimsy thing, Richard actually snorts. Is this some kind of fucking prank? He doesn’t smell any smoke. This is bullshit isn’t it? Payback for the stunt he pulled last week. Huh. He didn’t know they had it in em’… kinda impressive really-

  
A bang and what sounds like an elephant breaking down a door from behind catches him completely off guard and he turns. Sounds like it came from somewhere close by. There’s… voices too, only quieted by distance. That’s too close and the rest of these twats don’t have the balls to pull something this elaborate. Time to find another exit. Heading right, his jacket his casually hanging over his arm, Richard glances in every office he passes. They’re completely abandoned. It’s surreal. Just as it looks like he’s drawn the short straw, he hears footsteps that sound as urgent as his. Some poor bastard didn’t get the ‘get the fuck out’ memo either. “Hey! Hold up there, buddy!” He calls to the person ahead, his voice as even keel as usual as if he were asking the guy to hold the elevator open a second longer on his way back from a coffee break.

  
“H EY! HOLD UP! HOLD UP, BUDDY!” His own words fly back at him from behind, distorted and grunted by more than one person, bouncing off of the otherwise dead office walls. If that doesn’t make him pick up the pace… nothing could. In a full sprint now, hair standing on end, Trager recognizes Langin making a dash for the short hall leading to the stairs. Not out of curiosity but wanting the advantage of knowing exactly what he’s up against, Richard throws a glance over his shoulder. Looks like some ‘drooling cash cows’ as Jer liked to call them, had decided to take a field trip upstairs. Somehow, he runs faster. He’s almost home free, ready to slip past the filing cabinet after Langin when the other executive slams the thing down, cabinets coming with it. Papers and files fly everywhere like a small Office Depot explosion and as the initial debris clear, Richard can see his path is blocked.

  
“FUCK! Fuck, really!?!?” His own voice sounds shrill, no longer the uncaring superior.

  
“We all have priorities, Rick,” is the yelled response from Langin as he takes off to find the stairwell.

  
The fucking bastard is using his own words against him, leaving him here to be ripped apart by half human sociopaths. “Langin!” He calls after his coworker, the intensity ripping through his throat. He’s wasting time. That sack of shit is long gone.

  
Richard tries his first instinct to squeeze through to safety and fails, shaking the filing cabinet more out of rage than desperation. There’s no way he’s getting through there… and with a look behind, the itchy pajama gang is getting closer. Trager takes the only option available to him, turning left and running himself down to another door. He’ll kick the goddamned thing down if he has to. He has speed on the guys, sure, but they have numbers. If he’s caught, he’s dead, and he knows it. Reaching the other door to freedom, Trager finds it, surprisingly, open. Not thinking twice, the head of business development practically busts out, his shoulder taking more damage than the door in his haste. Grunting in discomfort, the fast-paced panic of it all comes to an abrupt halt, his stomach turning. He’s face to face with a patient probably trying to find his gang of escapees. The guy is big… but skinny, kinda like him. If he can just—

  
There’s a scarred fist headed right for his face. It connects with his right cheek bone, his eyes blinking shut as his head slams against the door behind. “Doctor! DOCTOR! YOU LIAR!”

Richard hears the accusation more than he comprehends it, still trying to figure out which way is up, having slumped against the door. The guy’s spit hits his face and he realizes he’s close, opening his eyes through the throbbing pain.

  
“You’ve got the wrong guy! Understand!?”

  
Apparently, he doesn’t because there’s another punch headed his way. This time Richard avoids it, lunging out of the way. While his attacker’s arm is extended, Trager has a chance to fight back, using what little room he has to charge at the man, pushing them both over onto the tile. The patient takes the brunt of the fall, the wind knocked out of him. Wasting no time, Richard stumbles off of the scarred thing, avoiding a grabbing hand. He reaches the closest way out. The elevator. Manually slamming the grate shut, Rick pummels the 1st floor button eighty times, begging the doors to close. “COME ON!” Finally, they do. He can’t be pursued this way.

  
The ride down is surreal. The only sound is the squeaking of the lift and his heavy breaths, his vision losing focus as his right eye swells slowly shut.

  
As the elevator dings to a stop, letting him out into the lobby, Richard doesn’t bother to run anymore. Purposefully, he walks past the check-in desk and straight out the front doors into the afternoon sun. A mass of employees are gathered outside, some in lab coats and scrubs, others in suits. Some turn as he makes his way down the front steps, but most are unaware.

  
Where is he, huh? The sick little twist has gotta be in the crowd somewhere. There he is! Right around Jeremy too… that’s convenient. Pushing through people with not a care in the world, Richard makes his way to the circle of executives, picking Langin out of the bunch and marching towards his right.

  
“Well—Rick? Jesus fucking Christ. What—”

  
Jeremy’s exclaim of concern is ignored as Trager throws back his arm, punching Langin across the jaw as hard as he can physically muster. Everyone is looking now as Langin, in shock stumbles to the ground, Rick not far behind, ready to beat the ever-loving shit out of him. Another punch lands, breaking his nose, blood spattering over his dress shirt like tie dye.

  
“Richard!”

  
Again, Jeremy is ignored, Trager grabbing Langin’s collar as he hovers over his battered face, brining him up to eye level to whisper. “Pull something like that again and I’ll ruin you— chop you up and sell you for /parts/, you understand?”  
The other executive gurgles something like an agreement and that’s good enough for Rick. He lets him go, stepping over his body and closer to Jeremy, wiping hair out of his face.

  
“Hell of a day, huh? I say you and I take off early, let security clean up this mess.”

  
Whether or not he is talking about the variants or Langin, still rolling on the grass is left unclear.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! As always I'd like to thank my friends, especially Wander, for putting up with my batshit crazy ideas and feeding the flame. 
> 
> More to come soon!


End file.
